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"In a universe where assassins make the law, everyone lives in fear--except for Syn. Born of an illicit scandal that once rocked a dynasty, he always knew how to survive on the bloodthirsty streets. But that was then, and the future is now..."

Syn was raised as a tech-thief until his livelihood uncovered a truth that could end his life. He tried to destroy the evidence, and has been on the run ever since. Now trained as an assassin, he allows no one to threaten him. Ever. He is the darkness that swallows his enemies whole.

Shahara Dagan is the best bounty hunter in the universe. When Syn comes back on the radar, she's the only one who can bring him to justice. There's only one problem: Syn is a close family friend who's helped out the Dagans countless times. But if she saves him, both of their lives will be on the line. Is Syn's protection worth the risk? The only hope Shahara has is to find the evidence he buried long ago. Now it's kill or be killed--and they, the predators, have just become the hunted...

About the Author

Sherrilyn Kenyon is a #1 New York Times bestselling author with more than sixteen million copies of her books in print, in over thirty countries. She is the author of the Dark-Hunter novels, which have an international cult following and always appear at the top of The New York Times, Publishers Weekly, and USA Today lists. Writing both as Sherrilyn Kenyon and Kinley MacGregor, she is also the author of several other series, including: The League, Brotherhood of the Sword, Lords of Avalon, The Dream-Hunters and the forthcoming Nevermore.

"They're going to kill me, Shay. Please help." Haunted, Shahara Dagan
replayed her sister's desperate voicemail message over and over again
as she sat alone at her kitchen counter.

And she'd stupidly thought it'd been a joke. What with Tessa's flair
for exaggeration and her melodrama, as well as the number of times
she'd cried her death was eminent over nothing more than a hangnail,
how was she supposed to know that this time the cry for help had been
real?

Shahara wanted to scream, to curse, to tear her house apart- to do
anything other than wait for the loaners who would return and finish
off her sister.

Dammit, Tess, at least go to loaners I can make suffer when they hurt
you.

But no. Her sister had gone to "legitimate"? government backed loaners
who could take whatever steps they needed to, to recollect their funds.

Even kill the debtor as an example to others.

She growled in frustration. How many more times would Tessa borrow
money from scum to invest in stupid schemes or just throw away by
gambling? And how many more times would Tessa run to her when the
balance came due?

Like she could just snap her fingers and get it.

But then she'd trained her sister from an early age that she would
always make it all okay. Whenever Tessa asked, she gave.

No questions asked.

Shahara hung her head in her hands. Never once in the past had Tessa
been hurt. And she cursed herself that she hadn't been quicker this
time. She'd gathered as much as she could as fast as she could, but it
hadn't been enough.

There never seemed to be enough.

She sighed in disgust.

Why hadn't Tessa come to her sooner? Maybe then she could have sold
something to pay off her sister's latest debt.

She gave a bitter laugh as she looked around her threadbare furniture
she'd recovered from landfills and her rundown one room economy flat.
Sell what? Thanks to her siblings, she didn't own anything of real
value. Not even her rusty, dilapidated fighter would bring enough money
from an auction to pay half of what Tessa owed.

"I swear, Tess, one day I'm going to kill you."

If only their father hadn't been such a dreamer, maybe then he could
have left them something more than a mountain of debts that she still,
fifteen years later, hadn't paid the full balance on.

If only Tessa hadn't inherited their father's useless idealism.

If onlyâ€”

The landlink buzzed.

Shahara stared at it, her throat tightening to the point she couldn't
breathe. It had to be the doctor. She'd been waiting half the night for
this call and now she was too terrified to answer.

Please don't let Tessa be dead...

She should never have left the hospital, but after waiting alone for
three hours, she couldn't stand it any longer. Too many memories of her
mother's final days had tormented her. Closing her eyes, she tried to
blot out the images of whispered conversations from dispassionate
healthcare workers. The smell of antiseptics. Their collective curled
lips as they looked down on them for not having enough money to pay for
treatments.

Most of all the sight of the doctor covering her mother's lifeless body
with a sheet. His emotionless tone still rang in her ears, "Too bad you
didn't bring her in sooner. We might have saved her if we'd had more
time."

And more money.

Her father hadn't been able to afford a lengthy hospital stay or even
the medications her mother had needed. Poverty had crippled her mother,
then killed her. Too many members of her family had died and she
couldn't stand to lose Tessa, too.

I'll do anything to get the money. Please, just let her live.

With a shaking hand, she opened the channel. The screen brightened to
show her the doctor staring at her with dark, unsympathetic eyes.
Shahara's stomach twisted into a cold lump of fear and for a moment,
she thought she'd be sick as she waited for news she didn't want to
hear.

"Seax Dagan," he said, addressing her with her professional title,
"your sister is out of surgery and in recovery. She'll be fine... in
time, but the voucher she used for the hospital cost was returned with
a denial. I'm afraid without proper medical attention, your sister
won't last for more than a few hours."

Shahara closed her eyes, relief washing over her.

Tessa would make it.

"Fria Dagan, did you hear me?" he asked, reverting to the ordinary form
of address for a womanâ€“ and a term letting her know that he
thought she wasn't worthy of the title Seax. After all, a Seax worth
her salt wouldn't be impoverished.

If only the bastard knew the truth. It wasn't her lack of skills that
kept her poor, it was her family obligations and unlike others of her
ilk, she would never turn her back on her family.

Even if they were stupid when it came to money...

"We're going to have to turn her out unless we can get a valid
voucher."

The knot in her stomach twisted even harder and she clenched her fists.
Shahara was so tired of being poor, so tired of the people who looked
down their snobby noses at her and demanded their money as if all she
had to do was grab it off the nearest corner. People who had no idea
just how precious every credit was.

Every drop of sweat came with a price tag...

She opened her eyes and forced her anger and hatred aside.

"I heard you, Doctor. I'll get the money for you in cash. If you'll
give me three days."

His sympathetic stare turned to doubt. She'd seen that look too many
times in her life and she despised it.

She added coldly, "I'll sign over the deed to my ship as collateral."

He nodded. "Very well. We'll keep her here for the duration." He cut
the transmission.

Wanting to flip off the doctor for his condescension, she stared at the
blank screen. "You're lucky I'm almost a lady."

For the briefest instant, she considered asking her brother, Caillen,
or sister, Kasen, for the money, but she knew they didn't possess it
anymore than she did.

Because of Kasen's necessary medical treatments and meds, she was
always behind on her debts and asking Shahara and Caillen for money.

Caillen, like her, would have plenty if Kasen and Tess could ever learn
to manage theirs. And if he wasn't helping her make the payments on
their father's leftover debts.

Shahara sighed. Even if she asked, her brother and sister would have to
borrow it and the type of people they ran with were even worse than the
ones after Tessa. The last thing she wanted was to see them hurt.

Family.

It was all she'd had growing up an orphan on the streets. It was all
anyone could ever depend on. After the death of their parents, she and
her siblings had pulled together to survive. They watched one another's
backs. Now Tessa needed her and nothing or no one would keep her from
saving her sister's life.

No matter what, she couldn't afford to let Caillen know what'd
happened. Reckless and hotheaded to the extreme, he'd go after those
responsible and she couldn't stand the thought of him lying next to
Tessa in the hospital.

Or worse being arrested for it.

Not to mention, that was the last thing they could afford.

She was the oldest and it was her responsibility to settle this.

With a determined hand, she pulled her holstered blaster across the
counter, clutching it until her knuckles blanched. Maybe she didn't
have the best occupation in the universe, but it kept her fed.

Her stomach rumbled a denial.

I don't need to hear it from you, too. Everyone wanted to give her
attitude today.

Grabbing her weapon, she stood up and moved to her bedroom in the
corner where she could change out of her only dress and into her work
clothes. She pulled her tight, black battlesuit on, the armor creaking
as she fastened the front and collar. It was old and out of fashion,
but Armstitch cost too much for her to buy a new one.

One day, though, she'd have the money to go buy another.

One day...

Yeah, you've been saying that for years.

Ignoring the inner voice she was sure was there only to aggravate her,
she stared at herself in the chipped, broken mirror. Her hollow, golden
eyes were dull and ringed with dark circles from a night spent worrying
over her sister.

She touched her face, seeing so much of her mother on the outside, but
knowing the similarity went no deeper. All she'd ever wanted was to be
the same kind, loving, gentle woman her mother had been.

She wasn't.

Unlike her mother, she didn't believe in the innate goodness of others.
Growing up responsible for the welfare of three younger siblings had
taught her early on the necessity of having a hard-edge.

Life was harsh and people were worthless and mean to their bitter
cores. They only used and betrayed. That was the only code she believed
in.

Trisa, that's what Caillen called her. She was just like the small,
spiked animal that shot its poisoned quills at its enemies. Better to
strike first than be victimized.

Besides, she refused to make apologies. She'd always done what she had
to to keep her family together and safe. And no one, absolutely no one,
would ever jeopardize what she'd struggled so hard to maintain.

Her soul charged by her conviction, she pulled her small reserve
blaster out of its box and checked the charge level before fastening it
inside her right boot, then she strapped the other blaster to her right
hip and slid her daggers into the custom sheaths that were hidden
throughout her clothes.

It was time to do business.

She walked the two feet to the kitchen where her father's old laptop
rested on her counter.

There were only two legal ways for an uneducated woman to get the kind
of money she neededâ€” prostitution and bounty hunting. She
refused to sell her body, and at least as a free-tracer, she was able
to uphold her oath as a Seax while she cleaned some of the filth from
the cities. The same type of filth that fed off people like Tessa.

Those who tried to feed off her.

With that thought in mind, she brought up her computer and typed in her
tracer's code. The outstanding bounty sheets refreshed. Eager to get on
with the hunt, she looked over the worst criminals in existence-
rapists, murderers, pedophiles, terrorists, and those who were all four
combined.

Shahara flipped through them quickly, scanning for an appropriate
target whose bounty could pay off most of what she owed.

All of a sudden she found it.

Her blood began to race with the thrill of a seriously high-profile
target who'd just been reattached to the list.

"C.I. Syn wanted dead by the Gourish president for the kidnaping, rape
and suspected murder of his daughter Kiara Zamir. Wanted alive," for
three times the Gourish bounty which was staggering, "by the Ritadarion
government for filching, murder, treason and prison escape." The amount
being offered for him by the Ritadarions would pay off Tessa's debts,
the hospital bill, the liens on her ship, and she'd have a little left
over to live on for awhile.

Provided her sister behaved.

Not to mention, she wouldn't have to decapitate him for the
Ritadarions. She shuddered as she read over the death contract.
President Zamir wanted Syn delivered in pieces and while she didn't
mind killing a criminal, she never wanted to dissect one to collect her
bounty.

Gah, what had Syn done to Kiara Zamir to warrant that kind of hatred?

"You are an evil bastard..."

Neither dead nor alive would be easyâ€“ which was why the bounty
on him was so high.

Shahara bit her lip in indecision. Syn's name was more than well known
and more than well feared. He'd made his reputation for being the best
computer hacker and file filch in the known universe. And before he'd
left his mid-teens he'd been imprisoned by the Ritadarions.

Twice.

Rumors of his cruelty circulated within the small group of tracers she
associated with. To her knowledge, no other

Free-tracer had ever tried to bring him in, which in and of itself
spoke volumes about his dangerous reputation.

Bound-tracers who were sent in after him almost never returned.

The tiny handful of ones lucky enough to return were never fully
intact.

It didn't matter. She pushed her doubt and uncertainty away. She'd
never failed a mission before. Tessa's life depended on her success and
she wouldn't fail this time.

Signing her name on the screen and swiping her index finger imprint,
she accepted the contract.

Multi-published romance author Sherrilyn Kenyon, AKA Kinley MacGregor, knows men. She lives outside of Nashville, TN with her husband, three sons and assorted pets.
Raised in the middle of eight boys, and currently outnumbered by the Y chromosomes in her home, she realises the most valuable asset a woman has for coping with men is a sense of humour (not to mention a large trash bag and a pair of tongs).